


And it felt like a kiss

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Help, M/M, Multi, and chris evans' sad accepting one, can't ever stop crying about Winter Soldier feels, sebastian stan's mournful face, winter soldier spoilers, winter soldier weeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-17 14:28:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1391125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We can't stop feeling Winter Soldier feelings. And neither can Bucky or Steve.</p><p>(I am so out-of-practice and this is unbeta-ed. For Ellie and Kat and Kate and Charlotte and Rachel and the rest of my Twitter Feels Crew)</p>
            </blockquote>





	And it felt like a kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellievolia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellievolia/gifts), [SparklyFiend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SparklyFiend/gifts), [tigrrmilk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigrrmilk/gifts), [herdivineshadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/herdivineshadow/gifts), [Katefkndoes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katefkndoes/gifts).



He's not afraid of ice, like some folks seem to think he will be- he's seen Tony hesitate as he's shovelling cubes into their glasses, even, throw him an anxious look that Steve guesses he doesn't think he can see, like not quite knowing this century's made him unaware of social cues. But Steve's actually pretty into it- it was a luxury, in the forties and he likes crunching it in his mouth when it's got to the time of night that everyone else is stagger-drunk.

He doesn't remember ice, was unconscious long before he froze over and after he was thawed. But he does remember cold, like he's never got warm. 

He kind of tried to trick himself that it was all this new air-con, that his body ran hot and he just wasn't used to it, that it must be this climate change thing now. Sweating under blankets and the glare of Agent Romanov as he protests any 95-year-old would turn the heating up.

Everyone this century is warm- when he jostles Sam out jogging, he's sun and adrenaline and a sheen of effort and Fury's his own titular furnace, in all that black leather. When Karen from garment technology measures his shoulders for a new suit, her hands are like slightly clammy irons and when he grabs and flips an opponent, they're panicked heat and exertion. When he kisses Natasha, even her clinical, cool mouth is hot, Zola's screen crackles and burns against his fist.

Steve's cold. The effects have been permanent, so far.

 

* * *

 

The metal impacts on his cheekbone, scraping layers of skin and hard enough to feel the bone bend and Steve is genuinely scared his rising fear is going to get him killed. This isn't aliens and gods, this is just some guy with a metal arm but he's quick and he's strong and he knows all Steve's maneuvers and where he's hit him, he's _cold._ Steve's used to pain, used to testing even his body but something's going wrong, like Steve's brain is shutting something down before he can think it and it's like fighting through freezing slurry.

Another blow and survival kicks in, gets his training together, gives the guy hell; he lets a little of the red rage take hold, play the fight while his higher functions panic.

Until he gets on his knees, mind howling and something bright white and awful replacing every combat thought and his hand cradles the cold spot on his face, like it's frozen there, before they cuff him.

 

* * *

 

 

"Who the hell is Bucky?"

Steve doesn't know, for the first time in his life. And he's tired of people asking. Watch a fucking documentary, read a fucking comic book. And fuck you.

Sam doesn't ask, just donates his iPod and a schedule of which vending machine is refilled when, for hospital bedside vigilantes.

 

* * *

 

 

He wants to ask it himself. Surely he gets that much?

 

* * *

 

 

It stays unasked, unanswered, as unmade as they are. In all his life, Steve never thought they could be afraid, together and now they cling, terrified. It scares the others away- Natasha was right, displays of affection make people uncomfortable but to a superhero community nothing's more awkward than fear.

There's no words. Not that either of them were poets in the first place- there's not enough to draw, yet, though. Steve is still working on their poses. To find a position that makes sense, says something about them that they could turn into a narrative. Another way to be, the next movement in the sequence.

This is how they live now; legs interlocking and overlapping, heads on each other's right shoulders, careful to avoid scars and cybernetics. There'll be sketchbooks filled before they can get to that.

Metal rests and unrests from his right hip, Bucky nervous about using it, horrified to touch Steve with it. Steve cares, hates what the arm means but he'd rather be touched than not. 

Bucky's eyes are clear and they flutter shut when their mouths touch, now. At first neither of them had, too rigid with fear that something would change. They even sleep, sometimes, on the side of the sofa the sun doesn't touch. It's slow, like the seventy years has turned them into glaciers not just iced them over. 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve hooks his thumb under the hem of Bucky's shirt, then stills. No sudden movements, no changes to their nonverbal agreement. The skin he's touching is scarred, a little rough, all Bucky. Steve knows the quietness will end soon, that they're going to have to work on that new pose, that even their long lives can't stay suspended in some wounded attempt to recreate, recorrect their long sleeps apart.

Until they have to, though, they stay in full contact, as close as their large, battle-hardened bodies can get, as proximate to what was before as they can be. Steve's hand flat against Bucky's back, spanning the base of his spine. They share the same heat.

 

 


End file.
